I Bought A Gun and Immediately Shot Myself In The Foot

I should’ve read the owner’s manual.

What happened? Well, let me tell you, Nurse Ratched, what happened is I bought a gun and immediately shot myself in the foot.

I bet you didn’t know that any idiot in America can buy a gun, whether they know how to use one or not.

GUN SHOW, the sign said. COME IN AND BUY A GUN WHETHER YOU KNOW HOW TO USE ONE OR NOT, it didn’t say, but that was clearly implied.

So I did.

And within 30 seconds of buying a gun, I shot myself in the foot. The guy selling the gun did a background check (“You look normal to me”), and then he showed me how to load the — what’s it called — the shooty things. Death beans? Murder pods?

Bullets. Thanks.

Anyway, the guy showed me how to load the bullets and then he hit some little button I think he called a “softy” — “safety”? No, that doesn’t sound right — and I immediately grabbed the gun back from him and pulled the trigger.

I was pointing the gun down, of course. I’m not a complete moron. And that’s how I shot myself in the foot.

Well, the noise surprised me so much that I jerked the gun into the air and shot the guy right in the head. It gotta tell you, it’s just like in the movies. But you probably know that since you’re a nurse.

That’s when the pain in my foot made its way up to my brain and I started screaming. Well, the other gun owners seemed to take that as some kind of signal, and they all pulled their guns out and started shooting at each other.

We had all purchased guns to protect ourselves from other people with guns, and boy, were we glad we did! Well, those of us that survived anyway.

After that, things got a little crazy. I switched the gun to my other hand, just to see how it felt, and I immediately shot myself in the other foot.

I’m pretty sure toes are one of those things you can live without. Like an appendix. Toes are the appendix of the foot. They’re not? Well, science can do incredible things these days. Maybe I can get some cadaver toes sewn on. Do they let you pick them out? I don’t want anything too hairy, that’s all. And none of those thick yellow toenails like my grandpa used to have. I still want to be able to wear sandals.

I’m not sure what you mean by, “You’re not going to need toes where you’re going.”

If you’re implying that I’m facing some kind of legal repercussions from shooting my own toes off (and killing the guy who sold me the gun and also several other people at the gun show and in the parking lot as I hobbled back to my car before being tackled by a guy wearing a wolf T-shirt), I assure you that I bear no liability for using a weapon that I had no idea how to work and that accidentally discharged repeatedly over and over while I spun around in circles and screamed.

In fact, I’m thinking about suing the Estate of the guy who sold me the gun for not teaching me how to use a gun in the five seconds we interacted, the County of Pottawatomie for hosting the gun show, the guy in the wolf T-Shirt for sacking me with excessive force, the NRA for encouraging people like the guy who sold me the gun and all of those other lunatics at the gun show, and the United States of America for letting people shoot death beans at each other whenever they feel like it.

Legal secretary by day, insomniac by night. BA, MA. If life is a journey, I’m lost. Slackjaw, Points In Case, The Funny Times, The Haven. Twitter: @blade_funner

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